


edged

by ndnickerson



Series: Red Label [20]
Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: F/M, Making Out, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:26:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nancy and Ned steal a few hours for themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	edged

Nancy reluctantly opened her eyes, nuzzling into the pillow for longer and longer blinks. The comforter was twisted around her waist, leaving her bare arms chilly, and the sun was slanting through the blinds, glowing through her eyelids.

She let out a contented murmur, dropping her chin, before she realized.

She was supposed to already be awake.

She slowly opened one eye, barely enough, until she made out the wavering figures on her alarm clock. Her eyes flew open and she propped herself up on one elbow, gazing at the time in shock, until it came back to her.

Jamie was still with the babysitter. They had half a day left to themselves.

With a soft thump, Nancy fell back to the mattress, a small smile on her face. She wriggled deeper under the comforter, and then her ass brushed her husband's hips, and by the feel of it, he was definitely going to make the most of their time alone together. She kept herself still, barely feigning surprise as Ned's hand snaked over her side and brushed her abs, his fingertips sliding under the elastic band of her panties.

The routine was familiar. He'd slide two fingers up inside her, stroking her wet if she wasn't already, slide her panties down, and in three minutes he'd be in the shower and she would be gazing out the window, having never even seen his face.

Of course, when she got bored with it, sometimes she pretended she was sleeping through it, and called out a movie star's name instead of his. She'd made the mistake of saying a woman's name a few weeks ago, and Ned had immediately rolled her onto her back and demanded to know, in exact, explicit, dirty detail, exactly what had been going on in her head. And had been very disappointed when she had laughed in his face.

And she was wet; her body was so used to the routine that even on days she woke up alone in the bed, she was almost always wet for him. It just wasn't enough, today.

So she grabbed his wrist before he could put his hand in her panties, feeling his erection press against her ass. "Ned?"

"Hmm?" Denied his first choice, Ned was directing his attention upward, and her breasts were free under her thin t-shirt, her nipples already puckered hard for him. She kept his wrist caged in her hand and stopped him before he could make it that far, either.

"We don't make out anymore."

His other hand was sliding under her, pressing against her abs to angle her hips, as he rubbed his erection against her ass. Nancy closed her eyes and blew a quiet breath through her pursed lips, lacing her fingers between Ned's on his captured hand, and when she twisted Ned's thumb brushed her nipple and how could it be this hard to concentrate, he could play her like a damn violin, the taut string of her arousal plucked and quivering under his fingertips, throbbing between her thighs.

"Sure we do." His voice was muffled against her hair; she shivered at the feel of his warm breath against her neck. "We make out all the time."

Giving up, Nancy flipped over to face him, even though the erect nub of her clit and the tingling slide of her inner lips kept reminding her that their bodies were lined up, that he was ripe for the taking. "Not while we're having sex," she corrected him. "Not while you're trying to get me to have sex. I mean like making out that isn't just foreplay."

Ned chuckled. "Why would we?"

Nancy smiled, and traced one finger down his shoulder, smoothing the cuff of his undershirt. "Don't you miss it?"

"Making out?"

Nancy could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks. Which was ridiculous, really. Ned had seen her in every single possible state of undress, had watched her give birth to their son. There wasn't a square inch of her he didn't know. But the incredulous look on his face...

"You mean, like, right now?"

"Forget I said anything," she mumbled.

"Nan—"

And then, just like clockwork, Mollie whined at their door, and Nancy thought of morning breath and how a cup of coffee would save her life right now, and Ned kissed her cheek swiftly and rolled out of bed, heading to their bathroom. When he came back out, Nancy was all but hidden under the comforter, and his boxers were no longer tented.

She let out a disappointed sound.

"Sorry," he apologized, shooting her a half smile. "Just seemed like you weren't interested."

As he headed down the stairs, Mollie at his heels, Nancy pressed her legs together hard and thought about rain, snow, the stock market, anything to dampen the buzz she could still feel trilling between her thighs. When she finally had it under control, she sighed and tossed the covers back.

\--

She took her shower while Ned was on his morning run with Mollie, and had to fight the urge, the entire time, to do what her husband had done and relieve the tension he had managed to tease in her. After she finished drying her hair she stood in her panties, going through her clothes. She found a delicate swiss-dot top in thin fabric the color of lemon chiffon, and considered wearing it alone, but decided it would be too obvious, even though she really wanted to see the look it would provoke from Ned. She almost went without a bra, too, but she was going to have to put one on to pick Jamie up anyway.

Nancy chuckled to herself as she latched the bra. Something had to be wrong with her; she wasn't usually so single-mindedly horny. But then she had never stopped him from having sex with her in the morning, either, even if it was hasty and generally less than fully satisfying. She felt raw, feverish, overly sensitive.

While Ned was in the shower, only the thought of having to dry her hair all over again made her resist the urge to climb in with him.

He came downstairs with his hair just a little damp still, and she was sitting on the couch, stabbing her thumb against the remote to scroll through the channels. He touched her shoulder and gooseflesh rippled down her arms. That'll teach you, she thought wryly.

"Do I need to pick up anything for lunch?"

"No," she replied, turning her head to look back at him, and then his face was next to hers and he was kissing her, very gently, his lips closed. She fought the urge to slide her arms around his neck.

"Okay," he replied, his lips moving against hers, and he was smiling.

He kept doing that. She was standing in the kitchen, finding a bottle of water in the fridge, when he slid his arm around her waist, and she turned in surprise, the water still in one hand, letting the refrigerator drift closed behind her. He kissed her and she was perfectly still, as she had been, a long time ago, before everything had changed, before the terrible weekend he had proposed to her. When responding meant acceptance, implication. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, her lips parted, his breath warm against her mouth, her hand coming up to cup his cheek.

He pulled back and she slowly let her gaze rise to meet his.

"Like that?"

She nodded, swallowing hard. "Like that," she whispered, and smiled.

Every time it happened, she couldn't help herself, she got rougher with him. They both ended up in the bedroom, she was looking for her cap and he was looking for his beat-up sneakers, and when he kissed her she brought her hands up and ran her nails gently against his scalp, up from the base of his neck, and he made a soft growling sound deep in his throat as his tongue slid into her mouth. They were playing by the rules she'd long ago forgotten; even as he bent into her, as she sucked his lower lip into her mouth, their bodies didn't touch otherwise, just her arms twined around him, just that low chuckle as she ran her tongue against the inside of his lip.

"Like this?" he whispered directly into her ear, and the sensation made her tremble.

"Like this," she replied, holding his head in her hands, letting her eyes drift shut.

Then he slipped away from her.

For a long moment she couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the insistent throb of her pulse at the base of her skull. Then she took the stairs, carefully, and found him at the back door. Mollie was making a beeline for the back fence, for a nearly-skinned tennis ball.

Nancy touched his hand, and when he half-turned she moved in front of him, stood on her tiptoes, and cupped the base of his skull, urging him down to her. He dipped his head and she fell back to the floor with a soft thump as their mouths met, slow, gentle. He put his arms around her and picked her up, bringing her even with him, and as her hips moved against his she brought her knees up, wrapping her legs around him. His jeans were pleasantly rough between her legs and she murmured softly into his kiss, tilting her head as he backed her into the doorframe.

"I thought the whole point," he murmured, "was to not get to _this_ point."

"Shut up," she whispered. "I've been wet for you since before I woke up this morning."

He kissed her again, using the press of his weight to keep her in place as he grasped her ass, through the disappointing layers of her panties and shorts. He teased the ticklish line of flesh just under the hem of her shirt, and she squirmed and laughed, vibrating against his stubbly neck.

Then he angled his hips under hers and she arched, unfastening her bra, unbuttoning her shirt. Once it was fully undone he kissed her again, cupping her bare sides under her shirt, his fingers drifting against the small of her back. He could almost span her waist with his hands. Long fingers.

She shivered at the thought of it, as their tongues twisted and slid against each other, as the tender wet flesh between her thighs first pulsed in answer to the growing erection she could feel through his jeans.

"Nan," he mumbled, trailing kisses down her neck, shoving her shirt down one shoulder.

"Does she have water out there?" Nancy sighed in return, tilting her head to give him better access.

Ned pulled back. "Hmm?"

Nancy sighed and disengaged from her husband, although she was so weak-kneed for a second that she needed the doorframe at her back. Her left shoulder was in sunlight; they were standing in the open door, and Mollie was busily inspecting the same grass and insects that had been there for weeks, wholly ignoring them.

"Her." Nancy tilted her head. "Your dog."

Ned pouted. His jeans were slung low on his hips and his shirt was a little wrinkled. The light caught his stubble, turning it golden, and Nancy felt a fresh pearl of slick heat between her thighs at the thought of that stubble against her clit. She let out a long sigh.

"I thought she was our dog."

"Your dog," Nancy teased him. " _Your_ dog who always lived at _my_ house."

She fastened her bra but left her shirt open as she walked out into the backyard, finding Mollie's water bowl and the carelessly tossed hose. Their backyard was surrounded by a privacy fence, to keep Jamie and Mollie both safe; the wind caught the tails of her shirt and drew them apart, revealing her belly to the sun. Nancy tossed the old dirty water out of the bowl and rinsed it out, then refilled it with the hose.

"Well, if she's _my_ dog, I should be doing that."

"Doing what?" Nancy turned and, entirely by accident, caught Ned directly in the chest with the spray from the hose.

He stood there, facing her, half his shirt dripping wet, his mouth open.

"Ned, I am so, _so_ sorry—"

In an instant he had snatched the hose out of her grasp. She was still shaking her head when she saw him whip his wrist, turning the hose on her.

"No!"

She turned and ran immediately, and the spray caught her in the ankle before she could get clear. She made a beeline for a low pine near the back of the yard, fairly confident that the hose wouldn't reach, and Mollie was soon running alongside her, panting happily at the game. She felt the edge of the spray against her hip and squeaked, immediately shifting into a zigzag pattern. Ned chuckled grimly.

Of course. He had played football. This was nothing to him.

Then she heard a muffled cry and a thump, and when she turned, Mollie just behind her, she saw Ned, on the ground, the hose stretched taut and gushing near his hip. He groaned.

"Ned?"

"Ugh." He lifted a hand to his head. "Wow."

"Are you all right?" She crossed the few steps back to him and knelt beside him, still keeping an eye on the hose.

"I think so. Do I have a knot on my head?"

"Let me see."

With a groan he rose to his elbows, and she threaded her fingers through his hair, feeling around for a bump.

"I think—"

And then she screamed as Ned brought the hose up and directed a gush of cold water directly onto her bra. She scrabbled back, but by the time she was out of the line of fire her hair was hanging in wet, sodden strands against her cheeks, her shirt was soaked translucent, and the waistband of her shorts was rapidly dampening. She squeezed her hair out and arched as the cold water dripped down her back, and Ned was laughing, his palm against his wet chest.

"You think that was funny?"

"Oh, it was _great_ ," Ned managed through his laughter. "Man."

"I was really worried about you!"

"You should've been," Ned said. Then he realized how vulnerable his position was, and scrambled to his feet.

"Turn off the hose."

Ned bent for it, keeping his gaze on her the whole time, but he didn't turn it off.

"Ned, I mean it."

"If you take your bra off."

Mollie was attempting to catch the stream from the hose in her mouth. Nancy saw the teasing gleam in her husband's eyes, and then the naked interest as she brought her hands up, catching the edges of her wet shirt in her fingers.

She took it off and hung it on a low branch of the pine, in the sunlight so it would dry, and then bent her elbows, hooking the back of her bra under her thumbs.

Then she set off at a dead run, and pulled the hose out of Ned's wet grasp.

"Nan. Put it down."

She tossed her wet hair out of her face. "If you take your shirt off."

By the time they turned the hose off, Nancy was down to her bra and panties, Ned to his boxers, the mud newly rinsed from their ankles and feet, and Mollie happily tracking mud all over the back porch. Nancy's hair was almost dry from the heat of the sunlight, but her bra was still damp, her nipples still pebbled to hard tips under it, especially once the air conditioning hit her flesh. The door closed behind them and Nancy turned to face her husband, crossing her arms over her chest.

He stepped in close to her. "Sorry about that."

She shook her head. "Liar. Dirty, dirty liar. You're not sorry at all."

He shrugged. "You look like you need someone to warm you up."

She smiled. "Well, a very sweet, very handsome guy gave me his leather jacket a few years ago. I think that would do the trick."

Ned laughed. "If by 'sweet' you mean 'wanted another chance to check out your ass,' then yes."

"You did not."

"You have a damn fine ass."

She twirled in front of him. Her panties were half translucent from another errant stream of water, and when she tried to turn back Ned had caught her bra in his hands. He unhooked it and pushed the straps down her arms, and when she turned back only her crossed arms were holding the cups to her chest.

Only when he was kissing her again, slowly, deeply, did she let him nudge her arms aside, the bra falling to the floor between them, and his large, warm hands cupped her breasts, gently fondling them. She slid her arms up around his neck and stood on her tiptoes and kissed him back, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and running the tip of her tongue along the slick flesh as he brushed the balls of his thumbs back and forth against the tips of her damp, hard nipples.

"Did you want this?" she whispered into his mouth.

He pulled back, and she stretched, pushing her breasts against his palms. "Want what?"

She tilted her head. "Us." She ran her fingertips down the back of his neck. "Me. Like this. Before."

"Yes, Nan." He ducked his head in, nipped at her neck gently. "My God, yes. Didn't you?"

She closed her eyes, swallowing as he sucked her earlobe into his mouth. "Yeah," she whispered. "I just didn't know it."

She reached down and shoved her panties down her legs one-handed, wriggling out of them, and Ned followed suit, leaving his boxers on the floor just before hers. When they kissed again his cock was firm and hot against her belly, and she ran her fingers up and down his shaft. With a groan Ned picked her up and swung her by the hips, until they were standing in front of the couch. Then he sat down, at the edge of the cushion, and gazed up at her.

Slowly, deliberately, she slid one knee on one side of his hips, then the other, straddling him, standing up on her knees so that her breasts were on level with his face. He caught her right nipple in his mouth and suckled it hard, cupping her hips, and she sighed, threading her fingers in his hair. With her other hand she reached for one of his, and cupped it between her legs, then slipped her index finger between and found her clit. He bit her nipple and she rubbed her fingertip against the tip of her clit, shivering as he pressed the heel of his hand between her thighs, suckling her other breast. He traced a teasing fingertip up her slit, as soft as breath, as she touched herself, and then he detached from her breast, gazing up at her. He shoved her knees apart and she sank to him, his long fingers parting her for him, angling his cock into place underneath her. Her hips were rocking insistently with every frantic stroke of her fingertip, and as Ned fit the tip of his cock just inside the wet, tight ache of her sex, she tipped her head down and their mouths met and his tongue slid inside her mouth just as she mounted him, taking the full length of his cock in one swift thrust of her hips. She gasped at the press of him inside her, her flesh prickling in frantic arousal as she desperately fondled the slick button of her clit.

But she needed him, needed the feel of him sliding in and out of her, so she broke off the kiss with a soft pop and planted her hands on his shoulders, giving herself the leverage she needed to push up and sink back down onto his cock again. He took her hand and sucked her fingertip into his mouth, sucked the taste of her sex off her skin, and she pulsed in answer, moaning. When he was buried to the hilt inside her she felt him slide his thumb between her legs, and then he touched her clit and she tossed her head back, arching her spine, grinding her hips insistently against his. He tilted back, propping his feet up on the coffee table and bending his knees, and she pushed herself up until only the very tip of his cock was still inside her. He dug his thumb against her clit and she pushed her knees apart, thrusting hard, pressing her breasts to his chest. He kept stroking her clit as she kissed him, as he pushed his tongue and the taste of her into her mouth. He squeezed one breast hard as her hips circled and ground against his, taking him in hard, jerking thrusts, matching the rhythm of his strokes between her legs. With a gasp she tossed her hair back, gulping in the air as she fucked him, hard, harder. Her gasps turned ragged, edged in moans, and Ned grunted as his wife released the first pleading cry, as her slick inner flesh clenched against his cock.

"Tell me how much you want it," he said, and traced a circle around her clit.

"Oh, oh my God, Ned, _Ned_ ," she cried out. "I want you so much, so much, please, _please_."

She kept sobbing out his name, and she was so wet, so tight around the length, the width of him, and then she shifted and she was almost, _almost_ there. She bounced up and down, the thrust of her hips rapid as she slid up and down his cock, driving him deep between her thighs, and Ned groaned, pushing himself up from the balls of his feet, thrusting up as she pushed down.

"Baby, now, now," he urged her, his own breath coming quick. She circled her hips and pinched her nipples hard, clenching tight around him as she began to come. With a desperate moan she collapsed to him, her hips still grinding into his, her sex slick and hot as it pulsed around his own.

That undulation between her thighs didn't stop, for as long as he kept stroking her clit. Even once he had spent himself inside her, he kept idly brushing her clit, and she squirmed against him, her flesh oversensitive, her mouth against his shoulder. When he finally pulled his hand from between them, she finally relaxed, her knees sliding fully apart, her arms sliding up around his neck.

Then he put his finger under her chin and tilted it up, and when they kissed it was slow, lazy. Her husband was buried inside her and their limbs were tangled and they were making out, her skin damp with water and sweat, flushed with sated arousal.

"Like that," she said softly, when she pulled back.

Ned nodded. " _Definitely_ like that."


End file.
